Ham soup for breakfast

It's Saturday morning in the Wheezer household. S. played a basketball game this morning. We signed L. up for tee-ball, and A. has gone happily about her way.

I missed breakfast thanks to being blessedly slow to get ready this morning. Now that the younger two girls and I are back home, I decided to get some breakfast. Mr. W. made some really delicious ham soup earlier this week, and it really hit the spot.

While I have been eating L. and A. have been amusing themselves with Liza, the cat. Both the girls and the cat seem to be enjoying themselves, and the running commentary from L. has been hilarious.

L.: Liza tripped A. (complete with the singsong tattletale tone).
Mrs. W.: Liza makes everybody trip.
L.: What about Nadya? (our other cat)
Mrs. W.: Eliza makes Nadya run away.
L.: Why?
Mrs. W.: She is shy.
L.: Why?
Mrs. W.: Why do you ask so many questions? It's just in her nature.
L.: Why?

While playing with a feathery, jingly cat toy.

L.: Here, A. shake it like this and then throw it.
A. shakes and throws. Liza ignores the toy.
L. picks up the toy, shakes and throws again, this time beaning the cat. Liza runs off.
L.: Mom, why did Liza run away?

After I spotted L. tracking Liza with a big blanket.

Mrs. W.: Don't you put that blanket on the cat.
L. putting down the blanket dejectedly: Okay, I won't.

L.: Look! Liza let A. pet her!

L.: Mom! Can I pick up Liza? She touched me, but she didn't scratch me!

L.: Mama! Mama! She's giving her a bath. (As Liza attempts to groom herself despite the 'help' of two little girls.)

Liza is the world's most tolerant cat. Or at least, she is in the top 10. In the nearly 8 years she has been subjected to children, she has not scratched, bit, yowled or hissed at any of my kids. She has had ample provocation, too.

What do you get...

when you mix a 4 year old with a skating party and a Christmas tree costume?

A gift certificate for 2nd place in the costume contest, and tears each and every time she fell down, shattering one of the ornaments on her costume.

Ok... OUCH!

Found an unexpected, very, very HOT jalapeno in my lunch today. Unfortunately, I did not have any cheese left to try to cut the burning sensation. Actually, I'm not entirely convinced that WAS a jalapeno. It was awfully hot.

I've had a hard time contributing to the blog, lately. I really want to do better. I can't believe A. is already 16 months old, and I've documented precious little of her life here. She has all the sass her middle sister has. I have a feeling those two are going to wind up making S. look easy to raise.

L. has been exploring her defiant streak lately. I begin to suspect this is a stage, since S. went through a very similar phase. I just hope we don't have too many more months of 'you can't make me' and 'I don't have to do what you say' left. She got her very first haircut on Mother's Day this year. I cut off 4 inches of her beautiful, curly hair. She still has quite a bit of curl left, but those long ringlets are gone. I'm sad about that, but she does look adorable with shorter hair.

S. survived first grade. Her final report card was the best one yet. Above grade level for reading, S+ for spelling, S- for PE and everything else was S. Things really came together for her this school year. As many issues as I've had with her teacher, Mrs. N. did instill a certain amount of acceptance of the requirements for school. S. starts the elementary school next year. Where has the time gone?

Of Strawberries and Bar-B-Q

Miss A. shows a very decided preference for strawberries and anything that could have bbq sauce on it. It's to the point that if we are having one or the other, I have to hide them until after she has eaten the other foods with her meal. Otherwise, she refuses everything until she has gorged herself on the favored foods.

Neither of the first two ever showed that strong a preference for a particular food.

We drove down to Llano, Texas in order to enjoy some of Cooper's BBQ last month. It is Mr. W's favorite place to eat, and this was the first time he ever took me. Kind of a fun place where you pick out your food from the pits outside and take it inside to be weighed, cut and eaten.

Miss A. ate more of the bbq than I have ever seen her eat in a single meal. The kid sucked this stuff down FAST. We had leftovers we took home and reheated a couple days later. When she caught the aroma and saw the plate piled with the brisket and sausage, she squealed. Again, she sucked the food down.

Earlier, she pitched a fit because I did not have enough strawberries to suit her at supper. This was after she'd eaten plenty of other food. But darnit, she WANTED more strawberries!

Is it bad that I still giggle when I watch a baby pitch a wall-eyed hissy fit?

Race for the Cure

We made our annual 1K pilgrimage today. The Susan G. Komen Race for the cure. And, in a feat never-before-accomplished by the Wheezer family... we came in DEAD LAST!!!!! Yaaaaayyyyy us!

It was kind of funny listening to the announcer strongly urging the remaining people (us!) by the finish line to get out of the way. The timed runners for the 5k were coming through any minute.

Go us!

Sleep...

My department head and his wife have 10 children together. He claims that child-induced stress levels top out with kid number 4. I have no idea if this is true, and I will never find out.

With both of us working outside the home fulltime, three kids is plenty. With A. waking up every two hours for weeks on end, one is more than enough.

I think I am officially moving past the 'I want another child' stage, and into the 'it's gonna be great when everyone is potty-trained' stage of my parenting life.

Actually, lately, it's been, 'I can't wait until I feel comfortable sending all three to Grandma's house.' I suspect that will change once I actually get a few nights with more than 4 hours' sleep.

The combination of A. waking nightly and the stress of my job waking me nightly has really burned me out. I just hope I can hold out through April. May does not look as bad on the work front...

I am looking forward to actually spending time with my little family.

I am sad today...

After a battle with cancer lasting over 3 years, Miss C. has passed away.

Conversation at Dinner

S: Do boys get more baths than girls?

Mrs. W: What?

S: Do boys get more baths than girls?

Mrs. W: Say that again?

S: Do boys get more baths than girls?

Mrs. W: Boys usually get as many baths as girls... Why do you ask?

S: Boys are more stinky than girls.

So very, very many firsts

February 6th. 1st Birthday

Amelia turned 1 year old. How, oh how, did the time fly by so quickly. She is a joy and a raging terror at the same time. Her curiosity is infinite, along with her ability to get into trouble. I had her home with her oldest sister one day, when I thought they were both sick. During the course of the day, I wore out my voice and my back redirecting her and pulling her out of trouble.

She ripped the covers off some books, shredded the pages and began eating them. She got into the bathroom and shredded a good portion of a roll of toilet paper. She snatched a chunk of fur off the cat and ate it. She pitched multiple royal fits when she found she could not get into certain drawers and cupboards. And on and on and on.

February 7th. - Our first shared birthday party and house fire.

In a fit of 'efficiency' mindedness, I decided we could combine A.'s 1st birthday with L.'s 4th birthday. L. is still young enough not to mind, and A. is still clueless. I figure that will change very, very soon.

We invited a bunch of people to our house, including a couple of L.'s buddies from daycare. The kids all had a great time running around like hooligans. The adults seemed to enjoy themselves, too, thanks to Mr. W.'s provisions. Honestly, he tends to put enough food out to feed an entire professional football team.

Now, I know you're DYING to hear about the housefire. Weelllll... I baked a cake early-ish in the morning and did not like how it turned out. So, I baked a second late-ish in the morning (party was scheduled to start at 2). In a rather stupid attempt to speed things along, I popped the baked cake under the broiler in order to toast the marshmallow topping just a wee bit faster. It should have been in there for a minute. Just as I shut the oven door, S. slammed L.'s fingers in a door. I completely forgot about the cake while kissing boo-boos and yelling at the door slammer until smoke and flames started pouring out of my oven. Seriously, I had scorch marks on my white oven door handle.

I managed to get the fire out without hosing down the inside of my oven with fire extinguisher stuff, but my house was FULL of smoke. You know how when you're a kid, the firefighters come and tell you that smoke rises? They're not kidding... at all. I put the charcoal cake out on the back porch so it would quit smoking up the house. It made for quite the conversation piece during the party.

My husband and his dad are two peas in a pod. During the conflagration, Mr. W. was out of the house picking up balloons. His first response when he got home? Maybe we can scrape off the top. When I showed him exhibit A., he said, 'Never mind.' When my father in law heard the story, his first response was, 'Maybe we can scrape off the top.' When I showed HIM the wreckage, he just started laughing to the point tears were forming. I've got a good picture of the cake, but I'm not sure where Mr. W. stashed his camera. I'll post it when I can.

February 8. - First broken molar

The tooth my dentist said needed a crown decided to start falling to pieces. Fortunately, this was not especially painful. Getting the crown later in the week was less than pleasant. Getting the bill was even less pleasant.

My dentist would give Doogie Houser a run for his money. This makes me feel old. Only old people need crowns (yes, I know how that sounds) and only old people fuss about how young their doctor is. Seriously, I thought the guy was a high schooler doing some sort of work study until I realized he wasn't there for giggles.

February 12. - First cancer diagnosis

Technically, my dad got his cancer diagnosis earlier than the 11th, but that is the day I got the news. It's supposed to be taken care of with surgery, but still, the 'C' word is scary stuff.

On the one hand, it feels unreal. I'm staunchly in the middle of the denial stage. Because, you know, it's just not possible for your parent to have a life-threatening illness. It's just impossible.

On the other hand, I'm kind of mad. How could something so nasty be growing on my oh-so-wonderful dad?

February 17th. - First word

Miss A. has decided to offend both her dad and me by her choice of first word. S. and L. both said 'dada' first. I have been working with A. trying to get a 'mama' for first word. Nothing doing with her, though. Instead, it's 'ka! ka! ka!' for one of our cats. Her second word is 'kee ka' which she uses for our other cat.

I could handle falling behind dad, but coming after not one but two cats? I get no respect.

Important Bulletin: 3 Year Olds are Extremely Literal

Some days, it feels like I will be a successful parent if I give my children the tools to become financially prosperous enough to afford the therapy they will ultimately require...

L. had been twirling 'round and around and 'round the living room to the point of becoming staggeringly dizzy. This is a source of great fun for both my older girls. I watched from the nearby rocking chair nursing Amelia and called out, 'L. did you know if you spin and spin and spin until you're very dizzy, you can lay down on the floor and the ceiling will spin?'

S. heard and immediately spun herself dizzy, lay down and watched the ceiling 'spin' around. She giggled the whole time.

L. was too impatient to spin enough to become properly dizzy, but she tried multiple times to catch the spinning ceiling.

Mr. W. called the girls in for their bath, and after L. was clean and in her pajamas, she came back to the living room and tried again. This time, she spun and spun and spun to the point of staggering around. When she lay down, though, the giggles disappeared. She looked panicked and began trying to crawl out of the living room but was still too dizzy to make much progress.

Poor baby thought the ceiling really was twirling and falling down on her. For most of the rest of the evening, she refused to walk through the center of the living room and eyed the ceiling with deep suspicion.

Mr. W. was in the girls' room with S. prodding her into pajamas, and L. took off after them. I called out, 'Don't let her spin in her room!!!!'

Mr. W. came back to the living room to ask why, and I told him what had happened just a few minutes prior. He didn't quite get it until I told him I did NOT want L. afraid to sleep in her own room for fear the ceiling was going to fall in on her.

(What sorts of careers do provide for either the mental health benefits or the high pay that many, many years' therapy will require?)

We have too much Wii

S. is trying desperately to turn into a video game junkie, but her mean old mommy just won't let her.

Last Christmas, Santa brought us a Wii system, and we've thoroughly enjoyed it. I love that L and S can both play together and that the games require a certain amount of moving around.

The current big hit with the girls is Mario Party 8. You have the full spectrum of Mario Brothers characters who can all play various mini-games and board games. The girls have been playing board games against each other and two computer generated opponents. Each round of play starts with each player punching a die and traveling the number of spaces the die shows. Candy is available which gives a special power to the player. At the end of each round, there is a mini-game all four players play. Winner gets extra coins.

I let S and L play for about 30 minutes last night and then turned it off. Boy did S. fuss! Wouldn't you know that after supper, they pretended to be in the game. They picked characters' names, jumped up to hit the 'dice' and ran laps around the living room counting the number that turned up on their 'dice.'

L. insisted she was eating her 'bat' candy, so her running around involved a lot of wing flapping.

Maybe it's time for me to 'lose' Mario Party for a few days?

Early (morning) birthday present

I recently had a birthday, and it was lovely. I spent the entire weekend with my girls (except for a couple hours Sunday morning when S. decided she'd rather scream and cry than go to church).

Friday evening, we had a fabulous birthday-eve evening. We pulled out the hide-a-bed in the living room, popped popcorn, and watched movies until we passed out. A. woke around midnight, so I got up from the hide-a-bed and fed her. By the time I had her soothed and asleep, Mr. W. had snitched my place. Being good-natured (and thinking I'd be more comfy in my own bed), I left him there. Around four, A. woke again, and Mr. W. came in to see how things were going, and to wish me happy birthday.

I told him he'd stolen my spot next to L. He offered it back (oh, how sweet), but I told him he should probably keep it since A. will probably be up again by 6.

Alas, my prediction was 100% wrong.

I woke at 6, not from the sounds of A. fussing to be held or fed, but from a ruckus in the living room. The scene in the living room was:

Mr. W. was running around grabbing blankets and pillows and grumping, 'I need a shower. I need a shower!'

S. was still sacked out on the bed.

L. was pirouetting around the room singing, 'I wet the bed! I wet the bed!'

And I, I laughed until tears poured down my face. Once we had everybody cleaned up and the mattress marinating in a vinegar spray, I gave Mr. W. a kiss and told him 'Thanks for the early birthday present.'

I had thought about waking L. around 4 to take her to the potty. She did drink two cups of juice with all that popcorn. Mental note for next living room campout!

He had to be sick...

Nine years ago today, Mr. W. and I pledged our lives to each other before God and more than 200 guests. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day, much like today has been. We were surrounded by friends and family who wished us the very best. I laughed until I cried about the shoe polish smeared across Mr. W.'s brother's face and the electrical tape used to hold the best man's shoe together. The photos with Mr. W.'s family show me just about in tears as we called out 'shoe polish' instead of the traditional 'cheese.' It was a lovely, laughter-filled day.

Poor Mr. W., though. He had been sick like crazy the night before. Fever, cough, chills all night. The fever broke the morning of the wedding, and his voice held out just through reciting our vows. My running joke has been that he had to be sick to marry me.

I still wonder what the people at the hotel thought about us as I did all the talking while Mr. W. signed all the bills for our honeymoon...

I love you, Mr. W. You make me a better person, and I'm grateful for that.

I Not L, I Tinkerbell!

L. is in the middle of a love affair with Tinkerbell, and I think it is adorable.

We have a tattered old Tinkerbell costume that L. adores. When she gets home in the evening, one of the first things she does is strip out of her play clothes and put on that costume. The wings are falling off the back, the hemline is approaching Paris Hiltonesque proportions and the fluffy little skirt is unraveling. But, L. loves it.

So long as she is wearing that costume, she refuses to answer to her name. We must call her Tinkerbell.

The funniest thing about it, though, is that she immediately changes back into her play clothes at meal time. She doesn't want to get food on her precious Tinkerbell dress. I'm more accustomed to three year olds who insist they will NOT change a treasured piece of clothing.

I have the fixings to make a new costume, and hope to have three matching costumes made for the girls for Christmas. Who knows if I will find the time, but I plan to send Mr. W. out with the girls over the Thanksgiving break giving me a few hours with the sewing machine. Wish me luck!

So why did I buy a new car?

Lucky me just got finished buying a brand new tire to replace the brand new tire on my brand new car thanks to the brand new puncture in the side wall.

Lucky me, 2, is going to be dragging said brand new car to the dealership because:

1. The oil light has started flickering on. I should not be losing oil. The car only has 3,000 miles on it and oil shows 70% lifespan left.

2. The car has started making ugly noises when shifting gears. This started out mild and has gotten progressively worse. I should not be hearing funny noises from the transmission.

I just wish I trusted my dealership...

Back off the meds

I am back off the anti-depressants. Many of my fears concerning them were coming true.

The side effects lessened in some areas and worsened in others.
I could not stop having anxiety issues that A. was suffering from the effects of the meds.
I also basically stopped eating since my appetite was completely gone.

I've talked to my doc, and I won't be trying again until after A. is weaned. He did say that if I could find out if any member of my family had successfully taken an anti-depressant, I'd run about an 80% chance of it working for me. I told him based on the amount of alcoholism and other issues, my family was far more likely to self-medicate. He just wasn't interested in prescribing valium like my grandmother took for so many years, LOL.

Three words

Time Warner Cable!

Will these guys EVER get my bill straight?

Scene at the Wheezers Sunday Afternoon

We have a family tradition going back a couple generations where each child is professionally photographed in one of a couple different poses. The print is done in sepia and really makes a sweet picture. The plan is to have this photo done some time before losing the front baby teeth. Sort of a permanent documentation of the baby-toothed smile.

I'm a procrastinator. I always have been. As of Sunday morning, S. still had not had her photo done. When I picked her up after Sunday School, her teacher remarked on the fact that S.' top front baby tooth was about to fall out. My first thought was we haven't done the picture and Mom will be annoyed. Oops.

Since there was no time to get her in for a professional portrait sitting, we made do at home. A hastily thrown bedsheet made the backdrop and a towel covered the piano bench where S. leaned.

Chaos ensued.

L. insisted she wanted to get her picture done, too. Mr. W. failed to turn the flash on (and Mrs. W. failed to notice). S. had the darnedest time smiling for the camera. And, we have an odd shadow I hope to photoshop out of the final picture. A. laughed at our antics while safely tucked away in her exersaucer.

Meanwhile, S. could NOT leave that tooth alone. Every 30 seconds, someone was sternly reminding her to leave.the.tooth.alone.because.Grandmother.would.be peeved.if.Mommy.didn't.get.this.picture.done.before.that.tooth.came.out. S. thought that was the funniest thing she'd heard all week. I squished on the tooth trying to get it straight for the photo, but it was a lost cause. Hey, at least it was still in her mouth, right?

Would you believe that thing was still hanging by a thread this morning? I expect she's going to come home from school with it in a little box.

So Tired of Soggy Underwear

The lovely Zoloft continues to work it's... er... magic on my sweat glands. I'm not perspiring heavily, just constantly. Please let this be one of the side effects that goes away. I'm really tired of my underwear being in a constant soggy state. It's quite unpleasant, you know.

I'm still running the gamut of GI issues, but I think I see a glimmer of improvement in my temperament. It's probably a placebo effect, but still, I'll take it.

The speech issue has mostly gone away with mild tremors taking its place. Actually, the tremors could be due to Miss A. missing the memo about the end of Daylight Savings and waking up at 3:45 this morning. Mercy am I tired.

My very dear friend is being a godsend through this. She has bipolar disorder and has experienced every side effect known to man. If not for her encouragement and well-placed guilt trips, I'd have stopped the meds. As she puts it, taking anti-depressants isn't exactly taking the easy way out. I can think of a lot of things that would make me feel much happier much faster. Of course, they are pretty much all illegal and/or hazardous. Since illegal and/or hazardous substances really don't belong in my house, I'll stick with the carefully monitored by my doc prescription variety.

Have I mentioned that I'm tired of soggy underwear?

This is day 5.

Hush, Little Baby, Mama Needs Her Zoloft

Where to start, where to start...

For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with ugly mood swings. Specifically, during the winter months and during certain parts of my menstrual cycle, I spend a good portion of my time depressed. I'm not usually a weepy depressive. I'm more a screeching, temper tantrum throwing depressive. This can be very upsetting to my kids.

Since having miss A., my cycle issues have worsened. It is affecting my children, and I can't allow that to continue.

Enter the world of psychotropic drugs.

My doc originally prescribed Prozac, but A. reacted very strongly after just one pill. So, no Prozac. Since continuing breastfeeding is important to me, the next try is Zoloft. So far, so good for her. The side effects for me are worse, though. Those are supposed to lessen after a couple weeks, and I'm only on day three. I hope the reports that side effects lessen after two weeks are true.

At night, when I'm dealing with the nausea, sweats, GI issues, etc. I swear I am stopping the meds. During the day, I decide I am going to give it a month. At this moment (5:30 AM), I am on the 'no more' end of the spectrum.

So far, the most distressing side effect is this weird thing with my speech. I find myself unable to spit out the word on the tip of my tongue. It's not stuttering, but it is extremely annoying and frustrating. Frustration seems to make it worse. Poor Mr. W. is to the point of helping me finish my sentences. This is the one side effect that will make or break the Zoloft. I can't keep on like this. Being able to clearly communicate is important to me (and to my job). I exasperated the dickens out of an agent when I just could not speak. It doesn't affect my thinking or typing, just getting the words out. Strange...

My doc did let it slip that more than half his patients who work where I work (and where Mr. W. used to work) are medicated. Now what does that say about my working environment?